when i was younger, i was a lot more creative (not to mention hotter, although i didn't realise this until now, fat lot of good that does my jiggly thirtysomething gut, but i digress). i suppose this blog is a last ditch effort to convince myself that i am not in the latter stages of complete moral and artistic decrepitude.
i used to draw all the time. i painted like crazy, producing a deluge of rotund naked chick paintings in various stages of rotundity and déshabillé. there was a time in my life when i always had a mug of paint-water on my kitchen table so that in the morning, when my faculties were not up to par, i'd never know what i was drinking. so what happened to that sweet blossom of youthful promise, you demand to know? well, for one, i took my first actual art class. a real class. taught by a real live artist. at the university, no less. it was the only class i ever dropped in my entire academic career. god, i hated that class. mostly because people who had less talent than me were doing far better, since all my life i'd learned to coast and not exert myself (i'm lazy, i might have mentioned that before). hey, it was tough for wittle missy perfect to suddenly not be the best one in the class. so instead of working hard, learning great things, and meeting wonderful people who would become friends for life, blah blah blah, i just dropped out. and that may have been the pivotal moment in my art career.
i noticed lately that i have learned almost nothing new since highschool, presumably because doing fuck all presents precious little learning opportunity. or perhaps, let's be painfully honest for a moment here, i peaked at 17 and it's all a crazy bicycle ride downhill from here, kind of like that scene from city of angels where meg ryan is hurtling down a hill and you just, like, know that things are not going well, and then SPLAT! but hey, i can deal. as long as mommy gets a drink into her regularly, all is well with the universe.